


Key Change

by PFL (msmoat)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-05 09:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/pseuds/PFL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie waits for Doyle on Christmas Eve</p>
            </blockquote>





	Key Change

"Alpha one to Three-seven.  Come in, Three-seven."

Bodie eyed the R/T.  He didn't want to pick it up; he didn't want to acknowledge it.  But he knew his duty.  "Three-seven."

"It wasn't Doyle."

Bodie closed his eyes.  "Right."

"It was Davis, though. So...."

"Yes, sir."  Davis was Doyle's contact, planted deep undercover.

"We'll find him, Bodie."

"Yes, sir."

"Alpha out."

Bodie resisted the urge to throw the R/T across the room, but he kicked the cane. It made a satisfying clatter as it struck the floor and rolled.  Bugger.  He'd have to retrieve it.  "And stay off that leg!" had been Doyle's last words to him.  Final words.  Last—  Fuck it.  Either way it sounded bad.  He pushed himself out of the chair and moved carefully across the floor towards the cane.  His knee was improving.  The therapy was helping.  He was expected back on the job, if not out in the field, in another week.  By which time it wouldn't bloody matter.  Stupid, sodding Doyle—where was he?

Bodie made his way back to the chair—Doyle's chair.  He wasn't allowed at HQ, but he could wait just as well in Doyle's flat as his own.  He'd've gone mad if he'd stayed at his own place.  Besides, Doyle had had to leave suddenly a week ago—at least Bodie could see to his flat.  That had been all the excuse he'd needed.  He hadn't been able to organise a shopping, but he'd brought some of his own supplies over.  He'd had to take a taxi to Doyle's.  And he'd had to pick the sodding lock. The flat had seemed abandoned—no music, no warmth.  But it had still conjured Doyle's presence.  Bodie had switched the boiler on, thrown out spoilt food, and restocked the fridge.

There had been nothing but a quick call on the R/T when Doyle had left for the op:

"You're on your own, sunshine."

"What, the Cow has you working late?"

"He has me in a car, heading north."

"That sounds kinky, Doyle."

"Yeah, well, I wish it were.  Only not with Cowley.  Listen, gotta go—stay off that leg, you witless—"  And the R/T had cut out.

It had been a week of Bodie being mostly confined to his flat, although Murphy had come round a time or two, as had Anson and Liz. He had been discouraged from driving, but he was allowed short walks.  He'd returned from his last walk to find Cowley on the R/T with the news that Doyle had been missing for 36 fucking hours.  And a body had been found in the River Don.  The face had been smashed beyond recognition.

Bodie got up from the chair and moved to the window.  It had been raining on and off all day, and even as he stood there it changed over to sudden sleet.  He wondered what the weather was like up north.  Dammit, it was supposed to have been an easy job. That was why Cowley had sent Lewis—_Lewis_—as Doyle's backup.  Doyle was to gather a report from Davis and get out.  Simple.  Easy as pie.  Trust Doyle to make the thing complicated.

The telephone rang.  Bodie hesitated a moment, then walked to the phone and picked it up. "Hello?"

"I might have known."

Bodie leaned against the wall.  "Liz."

"I've been trying to reach you."

"Well, you found me."

"You're supposed to be at home."

"Yeah, well, Doyle needed restocking."

"Bodie...."

He didn't say anything as her voice trailed off.  He stared at the wall opposite.  He'd helped Doyle hang that painting.  They'd—

"How are you?"

"Doyle's missing."

"I know."  He heard the concern in her voice.  He wondered if any of it was for Doyle.  "But he's tough and they're looking."

"Right."

"Look, I haven't got any plans tonight.  I thought we could—"

"No."

"It's Christmas Eve."

"Shouldn't you be with your family?"

"I'll see them tomorrow."  She paused for a moment.  "It helps to wait with a...friend."

He liked Liz, and the nights they'd spent together had been good.  They had actually managed to become friends once the passion was gone.  But she thought she knew him, and she didn't.  "I appreciate it, Liz.  I really do.  But I wouldn't be fit company."

She sighed.  "All right.  Have you really got food in?  You—"

"I'm fine."

"You know Doyle.  He'll turn up."

"Like the proverbial bad penny, right?"

She laughed. "Well, I was going to say sheer bloody stubbornness, but that'll do.  A tough, bad-tempered, stubborn penny."

"Didn't he save your life about a month ago?"

"Yes, because he's very good.  Keep that in mind, Bodie."

"Happy Christmas, Liz."

"And to you."

He hung the phone up.  Christmas.  It had been years since Christmas had meant anything to him other than a possible day off, and good food when the timing was right with a bird.  But this year, dammit, he'd been looking forward to—  He cut the thought off.  And then his own brand of stubbornness kicked in.  Call it what it was. He'd been looking forward to their...anniversary.  Of sorts.  Not that Doyle would see it that way, probably.  Not that he knew what the fuck Doyle thought.  Or wanted.  Or felt.  Christ.  Where was the stupid sod?

Bodie moved again towards the window.  Night had fallen while he'd been waiting, and he hadn't bothered with a light.  It would be colder up north.  Waiting was a part of their job, and he was good at it when there was no other choice.  Worry was useless; dwelling on worry even worse. Whatever had happened to Doyle had already happened.  They'd find him—alive or not.  It was simple enough.  But his breathing felt laboured, his muscles tense, as if he'd been on a job too long.  He had no interest in food.  And the comfort he'd found in the echo of Doyle's presence was fading.

The phone rang again.  Bodie hurried back to it.  "Yeah?"

"Ray—" It was a woman's voice.  "Who is this?"

"Bodie.  Who's this?"

"Bo  Oh.  Ray's partner, isn't it?"

Bodie waited for more information.

"I'm Ray's mum.  He's talked about you.  Is he there?"

"No, not right now."

"But you're expecting him?"

"Yes."

"So I take it he's not coming home for Christmas as he promised he would."

Bodie's hand tightened on the phone.  "Apparently not."

"What is it this time?  No, don't tell me—it's that job of his, isn't it?"

Bodie frowned.  "His time—"

"Isn't his own.  Yes, I've heard that before."

"Yes, well—"

"I'm sorry; it's not your fault.  Would you please tell him to call me?"

"Yes, I will."

"Thank you. It was nice to meet you."

"And you."

"Good bye."

He hung up the phone.  His knee was aching so he returned to the chair, carefully propping the cane next to him.  He picked up the half-filled glass of whisky that was on the table next to the R/T.  He knew little about Ray's family other than that his mum was alive and he had at least two sisters.  Doyle knew even less than that about Bodie's family—or lack thereof.  Bodie had always lived in the here and now—Africa, the army, CI5.  There was little reason to talk about the past, and the future was a hazy concept at best.  But he'd always wanted to know more about Ray; always welcomed the rare titbit.  He wanted to hear about his past, wanted to know what Ray thought—  He hadn't known Doyle had intended to go to his mother's for Christmas.

He drank the rest of the whisky, and set the glass down next to the R/T.  He checked to make sure the R/T was on.  There was little chatter on it tonight. Even CI5 tended to be quiet at Christmas unless an op was on.  And the only op that was on was too far away for the R/T to be of any bloody use.  Last Christmas had been different.  Bodie rested his head on the back of the chair, his eyes on the window.  There was snow reflected in the lamplight outside.  Last Christmas it had all seemed so simple.

They'd been running three days straight on an job that had blown up on MI5.  They'd missed Christmas.  He hadn't even realised it until Doyle had nudged him and said, "Happy Christmas, mate."  Then they'd gone in with guns drawn, and it had been the best Christmas ever because they'd both survived.  The clean-up had taken the rest of the day, and they had finally been released just before dawn on Boxing Day.  Bodie's flat was closest, so they'd gone there, and tumbled into bed, too tired to undress.

It hadn't been the first time they'd slept in the same bed. Exhaustion was all too common on the job, and they slept when they could. But when he'd opened his eyes that morning, and had seen Doyle there, his breath had caught in his throat. Doyle had been asleep with his face turned towards Bodie.  He'd been still, defenceless, and something in Bodie had ached—for him, for them both. He had been unable to disobey the impulse to reach out, slide his fingers through Doyle's hair and cup his head.  He'd needed to feel the warmth that lived within Doyle.  He'd needed to capture that warmth, taste it—  And so he'd brought his mouth to Doyle's.

Even now Bodie felt the sweetness of that kiss in his body.  It had been unexpected, a revelation, and yet remarkably like coming home.  He hadn't wanted it to end, but Doyle's hand on his back had sent a spark straight to his groin, and then there had been no slowing it down for either of them.  They'd come together like teenagers, with no time for technique or exploration.  He'd held onto Doyle, and Doyle's strength had held him, as they'd rushed to climax.  He fancied sometimes, he could still feel the imprint of Doyle's fingers on him.

But that morning after the sex, with both of them breathing heavily, his own astonishment had been reflected on Doyle's face.  And fear had coiled in his stomach. "I don't want—"  He'd stopped, choked on words he couldn't form, even in his own mind.

"Me either."  Doyle's voice had been attenuated, and then he'd moved as if to get out of bed, but Bodie had stopped him.  He realised now the desperation that had been in his grip.  They had stared at each other, as tense as the first day on the job.  "We're okay," Doyle had told him at last, and then he'd let Doyle go.

And maybe he shouldn't have.  Bodie closed his eyes.  He shouldn't have.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he heard Cowley's voice on the R/T.  "Alpha One to Three-seven."

He opened the channel with practiced ease.  "Three-seven."

"Four-five has been located.  He'll come back tomorrow, when the weather clears.

He felt a rush of relief.  "He's all right?"

"He's being checked as we speak. According to Lewis he's battered and bruised, but essentially healthy."

"No thanks to Lewis."

"Or possibly completely thanks to Lewis.  He also has the evidence Davis was able to gather."

"Well, good.  That makes it all worthwhile, doesn't it?"

"Bodie—"

"I'm sure you'll be congratulating him. And while you're at it, tell him his mother expects him for Christmas.  Three-seven out."  He clicked the R/T off and chucked it across the room onto the sofa.

Damn.  The spurt of anger died as quickly as it had arisen.  He squeezed his eyes shut then put a hand over his face.  Cowley wouldn't let that one go.  He remembered the last time:  _I'll tell you what I want! I want you to get on that phone, warn Doyle and stop behaving like a prima donna._ He'd heard more from Cowley after they'd found Van Neikerk; after Doyle was safe.  It had been an excruciatingly embarrassing interview.  _I won't make this easy on you Bodie.  Resignation is not an option._

Maybe Cowley would be filled with Christmas cheer.  Or more likely, he'd be filled with satisfaction if the evidence Doyle brought back was good enough.  Bodie paused as he reached for the whisky.  Doyle would be back.  He couldn't suppress a smile as he poured more whisky into the glass.  But the smile died.  Cowley had been serious about Bodie's...priorities where Doyle was concerned.  The non-fraternization rule was more guideline than law.  To outsiders it appeared designed to discourage sex between agents, but that wasn't the heart of it.  Bodie had had no trouble keeping the line clear when he was with Liz.  But Doyle—

He took a gulp of the whisky, and the liquid burned his throat.  He'd been involved with Doyle long before the sex.  You were supposed to be involved with your partner, weren't you? Cowley and his bloody two-man teams.  Cowley had even given tacit approval to the tack Bodie had taken with Kathy when Preston had been after Doyle.  But Bodie had known the truth of the promise he'd made to her.  _Because if anything happens to Ray..._  It had had little to do with the job.

It wasn't the sex, it was Ray himself.  He still didn't understand it, and probably never would.  What was it in Doyle that spoke so clearly to him, so urgently?  It had been there from the first day, despite the initial abrasiveness of their relationship.  He'd never worked with anyone who read him so well, even when understanding wasn't there.  And little by little, as with a new taste or passion, what had put him off initially became the thing he craved.  He'd reconciled himself to balancing priorities, always knowing the price he might have to pay for his choice.  But holding Doyle, having him, being with him in bed had upset the balance he'd achieved.

_I don't want—_

_Me either._

The whisky glass was cool in his hand. He held it up, looking through the glass towards the window.  He ought to go home.  There was no sense in staying here.  Just as there was no sense in dwelling on what he couldn't have.  They had shrugged the sex off with a facade of bravado, and eyes that acknowledged it mattered but wouldn't be allowed to interfere with the partnership.  Two months later, after an op gone bad, they'd done it again.  And maybe they'd felt something needed proving, because birds had followed in quick succession for both of them, culminating with Ann Holly.  That had shaken him.  It was then he'd realised his feelings had both deepened and grown perilously close to the surface.

He leaned back in the chair.  Doyle would come back and with the appropriate air of nonchalance, he'd tell the squad about his close escape.  They all did it after an op.  But Bodie would know the truth of it from Doyle's eyes.  Doyle couldn't hide it from him.  And they'd go to bed, following their new pattern.  Doyle would purge the fear and the desperation on Bodie's skin, in Bodie's arms—just as Bodie had done in Doyle's arms not that long ago, after he'd fought King Billy.  It was sex and the job intermingled.  On that basis, it was acceptable, and never talked about.  But it hadn't started like that on Boxing Day.

Bodie drank the rest of the whisky, and put the glass back on the table.  He was greedy, so fucking greedy.  He'd wanted to spend Christmas with Doyle.  He'd wanted—  Christ.  He wanted to be able to look into his eyes after sex.  He wanted every day, and the chance for a future.  He wanted Doyle to want him.  Bodie closed his eyes for a moment.  It was enough that Doyle was alive.  But when he looked out across Doyle's flat, into London's night—Christmas Eve—he felt the despair in his gut.  He'd master it by morning.  Tonight, though—oh, tonight, he _wished_.

***

The sound of a key in the lock woke him.  Bodie stirred in the chair, looked around, and realised he was in Doyle's flat.  Oh, fuck.  He winced as he stretched cramped muscles.  He'd fallen asleep in the chair.  A quick look at the window confirmed it was morning.  He heard the front door close.  It might not be Doyle.  It could be Cowley, or a burglar, or—

"Bodie!"

Of course it was Doyle.  Just his luck.  "Yeah.  In here."

Doyle paused on the threshold to the room.  He was back-lit by the light from the hallway.  "I'll make coffee, shall I?"  His voice was neutral.  He put his overnight bag down next to the door.

Bodie's eyes flicked to the whisky bottle.  "Tea is fine."  He pushed himself out of the chair and grabbed his cane.

"Leg all right?"

"As you see."  He moved towards the doorway.  "Roads?"

"Bad.  It was a good thing there weren't a lot of people out."

Bodie nodded as he neared Doyle.  "Yeah, well, Christmas—"  He broke off as Doyle grabbed his shirt, and then kissed him.  Doyle's skin was cold, but his mouth was hot.

Doyle ended the kiss.  "Yeah.  Christmas.  Which I intend to spend with you, you twat."  He turned around and headed for the kitchen.

Bodie blinked, and he touched his mouth with his fingers.  He took in a deep breath, picked up Doyle's bag, and walked to the loo.  All right.  He could do this—whatever Doyle wanted.  But he frowned as he used the toilet.  He couldn't decipher Doyle's mood.  He washed his hands, and splashed water on his face.  He then rummaged in Doyle's bag for toothpaste and used his finger to brush his teeth.  He rinsed his mouth and turned to the doorway just as Doyle arrived with two mugs of tea.

"Ta."  Bodie took a reviving sip of tea, but he saw the marks on Doyle's face and his stomach lurched.  He lowered the mug.  "What happened, Ray?"

Doyle shrugged.  "What you'd expect.  They'd rumbled Davis.  I got him away from them, but they hunted us down.  He died and I got away with the evidence."

"Where was Lewis?"

Doyle smiled slightly, and took a sip of tea.  "He did exactly what I told him to do.  Unlike you—I thought I told you to stay off that leg."

Bodie set his mug down on a chest of drawers.  "Bloody fool should have known better."  He pulled Doyle closer to the light from the loo.  "Anything worse than—?"

"Nah.  Just bruises, mate."  One of his hands eased around Bodie's waist and under his poloneck, touching skin.

"Your hands are still cold."

"Heater's gone out in the Capri."  Doyle set his mug down next to Bodie's.

"You need warming up."  Bodie took him into his arms and buried his face in Doyle's hair.

"I need more than that." Doyle's voice was low, and Bodie could feel the tension within him.

Doyle was alive and he was here. Nothing else mattered.  This he understood.  "Adrenaline, eh?"  He cradled Doyle's head, and he kissed him, his tongue pushing into Doyle's mouth.  He swore he felt the spark go through Doyle; an ignition to passion.  The fire spread to him, and he pushed Doyle against the chest of drawers.  It would be as it ever was—hard and fast; an affirmation.  They'd take the terror out on each other, with each other, in each other.  He could have lost him—

"Bodie.  Bo—  Wait.  Oh, Christ."  Doyle moaned, his hands lifting Bodie's poloneck.  Bodie pulled it off, then stripped Doyle of shirt and jeans.  They supported each other to the bed, and Doyle eased Bodie's trousers off.

Bodie gathered him close, hands roaming over Doyle's skin.  He wanted to feel Doyle's pulse, wanted to hear him cry out, wanted to watch his face as he came.  He kissed him, and then moved his mouth down and sucked on Doyle's throat, right over the pulse point.  He added his own mark to Doyle's collection.  Doyle hissed but didn't stop him.  "I want to fuck you, Ray.  Want to—"  He closed his eyes, gasping, as Doyle's hand gripped his cock.  "Need to."

"Yeah.  Need...stuff." Doyle kissed him, and turned to reach for the drawer in the bedside cabinet.

Bodie swept his hand over Doyle's back, and along the curve of his arse.  He could feel his own pulse in his cock, and his breathing was shallow.  His knee ached, but he ignored it. They'd tried to kill Doyle—all that vitality.  It shouldn't be possible.  His hand clenched, and his mouth again found Doyle's neck.

"Got it."  Doyle manoeuvred Bodie onto his back, and applied a coating of gel to his cock.  The touch was maddening but not enough for him to be in danger of coming.  Still, Bodie ended it, grabbing the tube from Doyle, and urging him into position.  But he paused as his knee protested, and then Doyle pushed him back.

"Not like that. Like this, like this, Bodie."  His words ended on a sigh as Bodie pulled him close.  They lay on their sides, spooned together, and Doyle raised his knee to give Bodie better access to his arse.

"Bossy."  Bodie took a dollop of gel and eased his finger into Doyle.

Doyle caught his breath.  "Yeah.  Someone's got to...to take the lead."  He shivered.

"Tut-tut.  No rank in CI5, Four-five."  He nuzzled the top of Doyle's spine.

"Sod it.  Would you—"  He gasped.  "Please."

Bodie pushed into him, his arm tightening around Doyle, holding him firmly.  He felt Doyle shudder, felt his struggle to breathe.  He held himself still, waited for Doyle to adjust to him.  Doyle's body eased in his arms.  "All right?"

"Yeah."  Doyle's hand covered his.

Bodie kissed Doyle's skin, breathed against it as he moved within him.  They'd never done it like this, and he found he couldn't push as hard as he wanted. But everything he did he could feel in Doyle's body.  They moved in rhythm, almost as one.  He found Doyle's cock and slid his hand along its length.  "Feel me," he murmured into Doyle's back. "In you."  He lifted his head and grazed his teeth on Doyle's shoulder.  Doyle shuddered again, his stomach rippling under Bodie's hand.

"Bodie.  Oh, God.  Yeah"

He increased the pace as his cock demanded it.  "Come on, Ray.  Come on."  They were so close; together.  "Prove it to me. Prove you want me. Prove—"

Doyle cried out as his cock ejaculated in Bodie's grasp.

Bodie clamped Doyle to him. He was down to the short strokes, buried in Doyle's heat; buried in Doyle.  His partner; his love. He groaned as he came, triumphant and defeated all in one.  And even as his cock slipped from Doyle, Bodie kept him in his arms, in the only way Doyle would allow.  He matched his breathing to Doyle's, his chest against Doyle's back.  He closed his eyes, absorbing the wonder of it all.  It was Christmas morning, and he felt it.  He sent his thanks to the God he didn't believe in.

"I do want. I do."  Doyle's voice was strange, subdued.

Bodie frowned.  "What do you want?"

There was a long pause, and he could feel the tension returning to Doyle's body.

"Ray?  What is it?"  He loosened his hold, and pushed himself up on an elbow.

"You."

"What?"

"You.  Me.  Forever.  Shackles, chains, the whole sodding lot."  Doyle sounded irritated, and then Bodie heard him swallow.  "I'm sorry.  I know—"

Bodie pulled him onto his back.  He reached across Doyle and switched on the bedside lamp.  "Say that again!"

Doyle stared up at him, and all the truth Bodie wanted was revealed in Doyle's eyes.

"Christ," Bodie whispered. Something dangerously close to joy stirred within him.

Gradually, Doyle's expression shifted, and then his eyes narrowed.  And Bodie remembered that Doyle could read him just as easily as he could read Doyle.  "You bugger," Doyle breathed.  "You witless, sodding—  You said you _didn't_ want—"

"I didn't mean you!  Us.  Whatever."

"Well what the hell did you mean, then?"

Bodie kissed him, hoping for distraction.

Doyle participated fully in the kiss, but when Bodie pulled back, his hand tightened on Bodie's arm.  "Well?"

Bodie sighed.  "I don't know what I meant.  I didn't know then.  That morning...."

Doyle suddenly grinned.  "Gobsmacked, were you?"

Bodie winced.  "Maybe."

Doyle threaded his fingers through Bodie's hair, a mirror of the move Bodie had used a year ago. He brushed Bodie's face with his thumb.  "Me too."

Bodie looked at him.  "That's why you nearly married Ann, was it?"

Doyle didn't flinch.  "I was so angry with you."

"For following orders?"  He remembered the tirade.

"For starting us—and not wanting it."

Bodie blinked.  "You knew?  Back then?"

"What I wanted?  Yeah."  He slid his hand down to Bodie's, and held it.  "But I didn't know it could be _this_." He squeezed Bodie's hand.  "I hoped."

He wanted to touch him—as simply and naturally as it seemed to be for Doyle.  Touching had always come easily before, but those touches hadn't meant anything.  Yet...maybe they had.  He pressed his lips to Doyle's face, and Doyle's hand moved to his back.  Bodie lifted his head. "I think I've always wanted you."  _Because if anything happens to Ray..._  "You.  Alive and here with me."

"I thought—"  Doyle broke off.  "I knew you were protective, but—"

"Cowley could tell you." _I won't make this easy on you Bodie._

Mischief flitted across Doyle's face.  "Cowley did tell me."

"Eh?"

Doyle grinned at him, and then he extricated himself from Bodie and the bed.  "Don't go wandering off."

"Doyle!"  He sat up.

Doyle sent a scowl his way as he dug through his bag.  He returned to the bed and pulled the duvet over them as he settled next to Bodie, leaning against the headboard.  "Here."  He pressed something cold and metallic against Bodie's stomach.

"Wha—?" He grabbed it, and found it was a set of keys.

"They're yours. For my flat. Happy Christmas."

Bodie stared at the newly-made keys.  Doyle had always been as guarded about his territory as his past.

Doyle looked down.  "I was going to give them to you tomorrow.  If I got up my nerve."  He looked back at Bodie.  "Told you I hoped."

"But...you were going to spend Christmas—"

"You've been talking to my mum." Doyle shook his head.  "Serves you right, breaking into my flat like that.  I told her I might come for Christmas."

Bodie eyed him.  "You knew I was here."

"Hmm.  It's the reason I came back through the night.  Lewis was not happy with me.  And then there was the fog and ice.  Snow, sleet—"

"All right, all right.  I had a dangerous taxi ride, you know."  He fingered the key, not looking at Doyle.  Warmth was spreading through him.

"I reckoned if you were still here when I got back...."

"You.  Me.  Shackles, chains—"

"And the whole sodding lot.  Yeah."  There seemed to be a slight note of uncertainty in Doyle's voice on the last word.  That wasn't right; that was never right.

Bodie turned to him and kissed him with all the longing he'd felt on that lonely Christmas Eve.  He offered reassurance and received it back in full measure.  There was no mistaking or denying Doyle's desire, and Bodie marvelled that he had missed it before.  Because it was familiar to him, as familiar as his own need.  When he pulled back, he found it was easy to place his fingers on Doyle's face—only the bruises gave him pause.

"They'll heal," Doyle said softly.

As he never would, were he to lose Doyle.  He saw his own thoughts reflected in Doyle's eyes.  Understanding and agreement.  It was more than worth the risk.  "Your mother wants you to ring her."

"I will."

"We will spend Christmas with your family?"

"One day.  Not today."

He held Doyle's gaze. "You're my family.  All I have."

Doyle's eyes were filled with light.

"Happy Christmas, Ray."

END

_December 2009_

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Discovered in a LJ Christmas Special 2009 online zine


End file.
